The Legend of Zelda: Sword and Shield
by Unit 37
Summary: In the war-torn kingdom of Hylium, Zelda Dragmire struggles to find a foothold in the military campaign against her father, Ganondorf of the Gerudo—a campaign that has since crumbled in the wake of a disastrous assault against the occupied Capital City. But as she searches history for a weapon to kill the unkillable, Zelda discovers that her own existence is part of the problem.
1. 1

Zelda grunted and forced Impa's shoulder back into place.

The pair took refuge some miles from Hylium, deep within the uncharted lands of the east. Though the east seemed trapped in perpetual rain, the many caves and tunnels that ran beneath its surface hid them from the prying eyes of others.

The first of the two—Zelda—was shorter by several inches. Her flesh was dark of tint, a deep brown complemented by the bright red of her hair. She wore a jointless suit of plate colored black that's chest had been battered and bent, while the left arm of the suit had been ripped away as if by the claws of an animal, revealing skin beneath that remained somehow unharmed.

The second bore the name of Impa. Of the two, she was the younger by two years and was close to the age of twenty-two. Her flesh was fairer than that of Zelda's, but red warpaint covered much of her face, near washed away by the perpetual rain. It was Impa who suppressed a cry of pain as agony rippled across her arm and threatened to jerk away from Zelda's grip.

When it was over, Impa gasped, but calmed herself a moment later, falling against the wall of the cave. Unlike Zelda, she wore no armor. Her suit was blue and formfitting, and across its chest, a red eye with a white pupil stared out at the world.

Zelda was the calmer. She remained standing, holding an oil lamp in her left hand. "Is it set?"

Impa rotated the relocated arm. "Yes, princess."

"Good." And though more words seemed poised to follow the first, none did. Zelda narrowed her eyes and stared at the ground.

There was silence.

Impa stood. "You father will seek us out if we wait too long."

Though Zelda did not respond to the statement, she turned her head slightly in acknowledgement. "So much lost, all for nothing," she said, her voice harsh, yet little more than a whisper. She slumped against the wall and slipped into a sitting position on the floor, though her form seemed no less fearsome for it. "My father knew it all, even before I'd thought of it. He was ready for me from the start."

After some hesitation, Impa moved and stood beside her.

There was silence again.

"He didn't take everything, Princess," Impa said. She crossed her arms. Much blood stained the chest of Impa's outfit, but none of it belonged to her. "We are still alive."

Zelda's expression did not change. She pulled one leg to her chest and wrapped an arm around it, stretching the other out in front. She stared at the wall opposite, before closing her eyes and sighing. "Why do you stay with me, Impa?"

"Because I am yours, princess."

Zelda's expression softened. Her left hand continued to hold the oil fueled lamp, which cast both Impa and herself in an orange glow. In that light, the princess looked older. The lines across her face seemed elongated and withered, and the shadows tore at her eyes. At last, Zelda rose and turned to Impa.

She placed a hand upon the girl's better shoulder. In the slightest of gestures, she nodded to Impa, for it was all she seemed able to muster.

Impa placed a hand atop Zelda's. "You are stronger than the best of us, princess. You will find another way."

Zelda retracted her hand and turned away. The walls of the cave looked almost soft when cast in the light. They glistened, and soaked, and when Zelda placed a hand against one, refreshed her, and provided solace to dry flesh. She bent her gaze down and thought, and for a while, there was little beyond thinking.

"There must be something my father cannot prepare for," Zelda said, her voice a harsh mixture of rage and doubt. "Something he cannot prepare for. He is not eternal. There was a time before he came to Hylium." But when no solution came, Zelda slammed her fist against the wall. "_Dammit_!"

The flame of the lantern sputtered.

The beat against the wall till her fist began to bruise. "That assault was _everything_! Fourteen years of research and planning and preparation and—"

Zelda quivered and her expression twisted up into a contained scream.

"There must be something. The Master Sword cannot be it. If I cannot have the arrows of light, I will find some other way to kill him." She turned and paced, walking in circles as the flame coughed and sparked against the sloshing of its oil. "We must return to Catalia. I need to have the records—all of them. There must be something I missed."

"Princess, your father will turn his armies to Catalia next—"

"_Irrelevant_!" She sat the lamp on the ground for fear of spilling it. "We will go back. There must be something—" Zelda stopped and twisted her hands into her hair, slamming her eyes shut to hold back tears that threatened to compromise her. "We will go back and I will kill him. I will kill my father again and again and _again _until he _stays_ _dead_!"

"…Princess, we are not alone. We must find the others who survived and regroup."

At those words, Zelda calmed. She stopped her pacing and began to laugh.

A short, desperate laugh.

"Of course," Zelda said.

Though the world outside offered little light, Zelda hefted the lamp and exited unto the jagged world; a landscape where the mountains drove towards the sky like teeth, and where there the dirt was naught but red. Silhouetted against the sky above, massive winged beasts that soared thousands of feet above the ground.

Even from below, they were intimidating in size, stretching twice in length what Zelda was tall, and covered in feathers caked in black tar. Where their heads should have been were gaping maws with no eyes and no nostrils. Though it seemed impossible for such blind, crippled beasts to navigate the skies, they managed, and emitted a noise that might have been breathing with every other flap of their uneven wings.

And in the reddened skies of the east, they numbered in the hundreds.

At the mouth of the cave, Zelda lifted a hand signaling Impa to stop.

"My father has the Amoroks searching for survivors," Zelda said, and stepped backwards into the tunnel, disappearing from view just as one of the featureless maws turned towards the pair, before moving on in disinterest. A moment later, the beast broke into a dive that sent a ripple through the air, disappearing into the teeth of the land before leaping to the sky with a half-dead figure clutched in one of its deformed talons.

Zelda turned and strode further into the tunnel, though her steps slowed as the path grew narrow.

Behind her, Impa followed with silent steps detectable only to the most sensitive of ears. Her form was only sometimes visible in the flickering orange light of the oil lamp, a glow that seemed to fade as the darkness around them grew deeper, till at last only the lower half of Zelda's arm seemed visible in the shadows.

Somewhere ahead, a moan of pain.

Zelda stopped, as silent paused as she was in motion.

Words followed the moan. "Princess Zelda?"

Zelda stepped forward and lowered the lamp, though the light still seemed so insignificant. "Commander Ralis?" she said, finding the crumpled form of a man laid against the tunnel's wall. He held a hand to his side, against thick gray armor built of metallic scales.

At the words, he looked up, revealing the fish-like extension of his head and eyes of pure black. But as he moved, he cringed, cried out in pain, and buckled against his left side, where he continued to press his hand against his armor. Blood ran freely from a clean cut in his pale blue flesh. One of the fins that would have normally extended from his forearm had been ripped away, but though the flesh was bare and pink with sensitivity, it did not bleed.

Zelda knelt beside him and set the lamp on the damp ground. "You're injured."

"It's nothing," Commander Ralis said, though they seemed words spoken on instinct. "I could stand… but I thought I'd find you—if I waited long enough." He smiled, though it was disingenuous. "I'll live… if you give me a little while."

Propping himself up against the wall, he forced his body to stand, biting his teeth down as he swallowed screams. The standing did little for him, and seemed only to accelerate the blood loss, but he maintained it, and looked to Zelda with as much sanity as he could muster. Though he made to move, Zelda placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him.

"I have gauze that can reduce blood loss," Zelda said.

Commander Ralis leaned against the wall, an act that seemed to cause him further pain, and nodded.

Zelda knelt beside him, tapping at the waist of her armor. When nothing happened, she slammed her fist against her waist, causing a small rectangular compartment built into the waist of her plate to flip open, revealing a resistant glass vial within that remained intact, despite the force of her blows. With her unarmored hand, she pushed back the seal and allowed the gauze to ooze onto her two front most fingers before reaching through the jagged edges of Ralis' pierced armor to administer the gauze.

At her touch, Ralis winced and cried out in pain, but did not move away.

There was silence for many minutes before Zelda withdrew, stood, and said, "I can do nothing more without proper supplies.

Commander Ralis nodded. Though the standing seemed to cause pain, the severity of his expression was lessened. "The water was filled with a type of toxin I've never seen. None of the antidotes you provided us could neutralize it." Though the words laid blame, the tone did not. The tone was matter-of-fact.

Zelda nodded. It was a numb gesture. "Did any of the Zoran forces survive?"

"Ninety, maybe?"

"None of them are with you."

Commander Ralis stared at the wall opposite. His inky black eyes grew narrow, and in the weak light of the lamp, his flesh seemed more white than blue. "No, they aren't."

"How did you survive the toxin?"

"…it didn't affect me like it did the others. The water gagged me and burned my skin, but I didn't die." He pressed a hand against the hole in his armor and pulled it back as the pain flared up. "I was closer to the water's edge—close enough that I could throw myself to the rocks and hope the others did the same."

Commander Ralis blinked and turned to the deeper end of the tunnel. Without a word or an utterance of pain, he began to walk, and the exchange ended. "What of you and your maidservant, Princess Zelda?" he said. "I… hesitate to ask if you accomplished your own portion of the assault."

Zelda said nothing.

"…I see. Forgive me, Princess Zelda."

"There is nothing to forgive." Over Commander Ralis' shoulder, Zelda lifted the oil lamp and peered further into the darkness, where nothing awaited them but shadows, and the silence of an absent army. "When we return, there will be no more failure from either of us."

At age twelve, Princess Zelda killed a man while sparring.

It was an accident—too much force behind blows that were meant for friends, not enemies. And although the man had been three times her age with twice the experience, he died from a loose blow to the head. But when Zelda hung her head and turned to leave the courtyard, still carrying the numb of death across her face, her father appeared and began to clap.

Her father was taller than any man, and seemed large enough that he could snap her in two with a twitch of his fingers, so when he clapped, it echoed throughout the keep, and Princess Zelda stopped to meet the gaze of her father.

He wore a grin—a grand, evil, approving grin. "Good girl," he said.

In the courtyard, Princess Zelda turned heel and fell to one knee before her father. The words that came next were reactionary. "Thank you, father."

Her father continued to clap for a moment. His skin was much darker than hers, and the red of his hair stained with strands of silver. But his eyes juxtaposed themselves against the rest of his form. They were a bright yellow, and they saw everything. They twitched in their sockets, almost madly, and consumed every detail of the world.

Her father approached the corpse of the man she'd killed. The corpse did not bleed, but its head was caved and soft, and its eyes stared up at the red sky perpetually. Her father pushed the corpse onto its side with the toe of his boot, before he turned again to Zelda. "You finally know strength," he said. "The men I have are weak. They are all weak."

He approached Zelda and placed a hand upon her shoulder, though the limb was large enough that it could have covered both her shoulders.

"But you know power—now you do. You are my flesh, and you must not forget the hold that gives you over your lessers." Her father drew his hand away, whereupon it disappeared into the black folds of his robe. "I will give you a second. You will train her, and then she will train you. When she is competent, your training will continue."

"Yes, father," Zelda said, and stood, her gaze remaining low.

"But do not forget that you are my daughter." His gaze turned harsher then. "When you fight, do not forget that you are _Gerudo_. You have endured far worse than them, and the pain you know is greater than any that can be imagined."

Her father walked away then and left Zelda in the courtyard, where she stared for many minutes at the corpse. It had been a man once—a knight. He had been strong, sure in his features, and not unkind. Yet he was now a corpse staring at the sky, his face broken and beaten till it was the putty of flesh.

Amidst the scuffle of servants, Zelda navigated the dark passageways of the keep till she found her room. As she entered, she shut and latched the door behind her before leaning on it. But as she relaxed, she allowed no sighs. Her expression did not change. And as she hid away behind her desk, taking up ink and parchment, her face remained determined. Her mouth balled up and her eyes narrowed, and she wrote.

To her right was a stack of parchment near one hundred sheets in size. Throughout, the handwriting varied, each was written in a cipher of letter fragments and randomized symbols. With that same cipher, she continued to write.

For nearly a day, Zelda did not leave her room, and one of the servants was permitted only enough entrance to replace her chamber pot.

The next day, someone knocked on her door.

Zelda undid the locks and drew back.

Her father entered. Beneath the folds of his black robe, he escorted a girl of ten dressed in rags who was all bones, with not a strand of hair on her head. She was paler than most who resided in Hylium, and flinched when she saw Zelda, only for her gaze to return a moment later during an inkling of curiosity.

"This is your second," Zelda's father said as he pushed the girl forward. "I've taken her name from her. So long as she takes to your training, she is yours to mold and name."

Zelda's father drew out of the room like a ghost dressed in black, and Zelda was quick to shut and latch the door behind him, paying no heed to the girl dressed in rags till her room was secure, after which she turned to the girl and said, "Did he purchase you?"

The girl in rags did not respond. When she lifted her gaze and opened her mouth, the words fled from her tongue, and she turned shy again. At last, she nodded.

"Do you have a name?"

The girl in rags seemed to think for a moment, but if a name came to her, she did not speak it.

"Then he did take your name." Zelda leaned against her desk with the posture of one much older than herself. Though her face betrayed a mask of youth, her flesh seemed aged, as did her eyes. "He has done this before."

For a moment, Zelda pondered.

"In the old world, there was a tribe who knew how to bend the shadows, and who took their name for it. _Shéikah_. 'Of Shadow'." But Zelda paused. "_Eémpah_. 'Of Nothing'. My father wants me to raise you as an empty shell."

The girl in rags' eyes widened.

"But I will not have that. You will take the name, nothing more, and I will make sure you remain whole. _Eémpah_. Impa." Zelda spread her arms out from her sides. She remained dressed in the sparring gear of the previous day, and it stank of sweat and dirt, and clung to her like a second skin. "Now hit me."

The girl in rags' expression changed. Surprise. Shock. Fear. Shock.

Zelda amended her words. "I will not hurt you, but I need to know your potential."

Like a sheep, the girl in rags lashed out. There was hardly force enough behind the movement to injure a child, but the girl in rags lashed out anyway.

By the girl's first step, Zelda was no longer in front of her.

By the second, the girl in rags' face was pressed against the stonework of the floor; both her arms and one of her legs bent and held till her attempts to move them brought tears to her eyes.

But the pain was slight and passing. Zelda released her a second later, and though the girl in rags lingered on the floor, she stood, and did not allow her gaze to leave Zelda's.

Though Princess Zelda's expression did not change, something in her eyes shifted. "Yes," she said, "I can mold you." Then she said the name again: "Impa. You are of nothing, and that makes you strong. You will be a shadow capable of dealing death where no death can be had."

Zelda held her arms out at her sides again.

"Hit me."


	2. 2

"What of the Kokiri?" Zelda said.

They'd moved further underground, deep enough that the pockets of magma that flowed through the stone beneath them began to heat the room. The chamber they found themselves in was circular, widened at the perimeter by some artificial means. Across the passage through which the group had entered was placed a great slab of stone, heavy enough that five men would not have been able to move it.

Commander Ralis was no better for wear, but his condition had not deteriorated. He walked with a limp, and when he stood still, he shifted more weight to his right leg. On his left, he was supported by a newcomer: a child-like being whose size would have marked her as being no older than twelve, were she human—but she was not human.

The child-like figure was a humanoid collection of plantlife held tightly enough together that it resembled something bipedal, and its resemblance to something female was passing. Only its eyes marked it as animal, rather than flora, and it possessed no mouth with which to speak. But when the question of Kokiri arose, the creature looked to Commander Ralis and stared at him with almond shaped eyes of pure white.

"The Kokiri are…" Commander Ralis trailed off as he stared into the creature's eyes, as if he searched them for words. "…two of the tribes conscripted into the army escaped when it became clear there would be no victory. They… returned to the north to evacuate the others of their kind."

"What of their prophet?"

Commander Ralis seemed to lose himself in the eyes of the Kokiri who supported him, and drew away, resting instead on a section of stone that jutted unnaturally from the floor of the cave. "…their prophet was among those conscripted for the war effort. This one does not know if she escaped."

Commander Ralis paused.

"…she says that many of her people believe surrender to be the only option, now that the war is lost."

"The war is not lost," Zelda said as she crossed her arms and stared off into darkness. "This battle did not decide our fates. Victory has been delayed—nothing more.

"…of course, Princess Zelda."

"I need to speak to the Kokiri prophet. Circumstances have changed and we must adapt."

Silence, for a moment, as a conversation of thoughts was held between the Kokiri and Commander Ralis. At last, Ralis said, "She does not know where the prophet's tribe has fled to. She is unable to connect with the other members of her tribe from so deep underground."

Zelda offered a careless wave of the hand, and did not remove her gaze from the darkness. Near her feet, the oil lamp's fuel burned low, and the size of the flame had been reduced. "Then I will find her and provide compensation for the death she failed to foresee. And _then_, I will consult her precognition."

She turned to Commander Ralis.

"And what does this Kokiri want?"

Ralis considered the Kokiri, and after a moment, said, "Survival, Princess Zelda."

"Then she is wiser than most of her ilk."

Impa stood beside Zelda. The difference of height between the two was near half a foot, and the _Shéikah_ stood taller. From the corner of her mouth, Impa said, "Princess Zelda, the prophet's foretellings were false. It is unwise to trust her a second time."

"The prophet omitted; she did not lie. I was naïve to trust her at her word, especially a member of the child race." Zelda spoke the final two words loudly enough that they could be heard by the others who accompanied her. "I will not make that mistake again. She knows what it is I seek, and is afraid to provide it."

Zelda's brow furrowed.

"I will have no more games." She turned to the other two and said, "Commander, I will see to it that your wound receives proper treatment on the surface. There are refuges that we might make use of."

Commander Ralis nodded and forced himself into a standing position.

"My father will have withdrawn the Amoroks by now. He takes only enough prisoners that he might… amuse himself." A sober pause followed the words as Zelda retrieved the lamp and held it before her. The light seemed brighter then, and it glowed enough that the path ahead was clear. A second tunnel curved out of the artificial room, moving upwards away from the heat.

They went wordlessly, Commander Ralis near taking his place in front beside Zelda, where his limp set the pace. As the incline increased, the pain of his leg rose in parallel, and by the time they'd neared the end of the tunnel, and the surface, he was unable to contain a small scream of pain with each step he took.

The cave exited unto a wasteland across which were scattered hints of former glory. Trees reached from lifeless gray dirt, only to twist and gnarl and die, withered and consumed by the very land from which it grew. Even the oncoming morn could not imbue the land with light, only emphasize the gray.

Above them, the sky was clear of the eyeless beast-birds. The world was silent.

Though Zelda, Impa, and Commander Ralis stepped onto the gray of the soil without consequence, the Kokiri withdrew after only the first step. Though her face was an expressionless thing devoid of emotion or features, there was a fear about it even so. But when the Zelda looked back, the Kokiri rushed to keep pace with them across the landscape of dead hills and lifeless trees.

It was a wordless journey., one that's pace was reduced by the wounded Commander Ralis. He limped, and the condition of his injury seemed to deteriorate, even if it did not bleed. After some miles traveled to the north, he was unable to walk further, and stumbled, falling to the ground in a position from which he could not stand.

As Commander Ralis drew sharp breaths and bit down pain, Zelda slipped her hands behind her back and looked to the horizon, where a river a half mile in width marked the border to Catalia, a greener country where life and color still remained, though the gray death of Hylium nipped at its edges, and teased it with the threat of war.

"Why isn't your father searching for us?" Impa said when they neared the river and the crash of water against rock was enough to blot their words out from prying ears.

"Because I amuse him," Zelda said. "He awaited the assault on Capital City and he wants to know if I can do more than fail." The last word she practically spit. She turned to Commander Ralis. "Impa, carry him."

Impa nodded, and moved to a consenting Commander Ralis, whom she lifted over her shoulders with only the slightest of effort, carrying both the commander and all the armor he wore.

They waded across the river. The tide was weak and the water shallow, though markings at the river's sides indicated that it had once been deeper. During the crossing, the Kokiri seemed rejuvenated, and the tendrils that made up its body twisted till each had touched the river, leaving the Kokiri's form in a state of flux as it moved through the water.

Near the end of their crossing, the jagged end up the shoulder of Zelda's plate cut into her shoulder, drawing a stream of blood. Without a thought, she undid the clasps holding the armor around her chest and the connecting sleeve, allowing both to fall to the ground with a weighted thud. Beneath, gambeson that was sick with dirt, sweat, and the scars of battle. Blades appeared to have penetrated the armor several times, but none had penetrated the padding.

Zelda turned to the Kokiri. "Where is the prophet now?"

And though it was the Kokiri to whom the question was posed, it was through Commander Ralis that it answered. "She does not know."

Zelda twisted about and wrapped a hand around the throat of the Kokiri lifting the plant being from the ground till her feet tangled inches above the mud of the riverbed. "Do not think to lie to me, forest-child. I know how the Kokiri consciousness works. _Where is your prophet_?"

"She does not know!" Commander Ralis' voice was panicked, and from Impa's back, he reached for his throat as if feeling the pain of Zelda's grip. "Something was done to the earth! She can no longer sense the others!"

Zelda twisted her head to the side and considered the Kokiri for a moment before releasing it. "Of course. Their connection to the dirt."

"She… wishes you to know that she is called Fado."

But Zelda ignored the name and continued into Catalia. There were no roads so near to the Hylium border, and the land was untamed. A great number of sparse forests littered the world, and above them, the sunlight was not so diluted as it had been but a few miles back.

Ahead, they came across a lone oak growing amidst wild grass. Pausing beside it, Zelda knelt and felt around the dirt, searching for something with her hand. At last, she wrapped her fingers around a grey handle and pulled, revealing a trap door, on top of which had been planted a thin layer of artificial dirt.

From the hole it revealed, a sword leveled itself at Zelda's throat, only to stagger back a moment later. From the pommel's end of the blade came a tentative, "Princess Zelda?"

Zelda did not respond with words. Rather, she eased herself into the hole, followed by the others and ending with the Kokiri, who shut the trapdoor behind them, casting them in darkness till a candle was lit, revealing the face of the one who threatened.

"Princess Zelda?" came the words a second time, more confident. "I'm sorry. I didn't know to expect your arrival." From the shadows emerged a face—a young, weary man with overgrown black hair and far too many battle scars for one so young.

"The siege of Hylium is lost," Zelda said as she absorbed her surroundings. The hideaway was small, but well stocked, and spacious enough that a dozen soldiers might barricade themselves inside and maintain room to move. Cabinets and weapon racks lined the walls, all of which were kept alight by ever-burning sconces affixed to the walls.

The young man who allowed them entrance voice nothing in response to the announcement. Instead, he nodded and turned away.

"Are there others here?"

"A scouting party of three. They left for Hylium two days ago."

"Then they're dead."

The young man nodded again. "…of course, Princess Zelda."

She gestured to the one Impa carried. "Commander Ralis was the head of the Zoran units. He requires medical attention. Are you well stocked?"

"Yes, Princess Zelda!" The man took large steps to one of the crude wooden cabinets, which he unlocked with a key attached to a ring at his belt. The cabinet swung open, revealing a small collection of bandages, medicines, and alcohol.

To Impa, Zelda gestured to the ground.

Impa lowered Commander Ralis to the floor with a delicate touch, despite the weight of the armor he wore. Zelda returned a moment later with a needle, medical string, bandages, and a bottle of clear liquid. "I need him stripped to the torso."

Though Impa moved to complete the task, Commander Ralis managed it on his own, undoing the near invisible clasps that held his scale armor to his chest, revealing a much smaller man beneath with pale blue flesh. The wound festered around the edges, and veins of green blood grew visible the longer it went untreated.

"Kokiri—_Fado_—reestablish contact with your collective consciousness," Zelda said even as she cleaned and tended to Commander Ralis' wound. As she stitched shut the injury, her concentration wavered only once as her eyes flickered to Impa, whose arms were crossed and whose faced seemed a great deal older and wearier in the darkness.

"Princess, your father will find us if we linger here," Impa said.

"Yes, he will, which is why we need to move quickly."

"To the Kokiri?"

"To the Kokiri—or the Archives. I think…" Zelda drew forth the needle a final time and tugged at the flesh, knotting it at the end and sealing the wound. Setting it aside, she began to bandage the wound, wrapping cloth around Commander Ralis' waist. "If the prophet has scampered to ground with the rest of her kind, I know where to start in the Archives."

Zelda stood, wiping her bloodied hands against her gambeson.

"Princess, your shoulder."

"I will tend to it, Impa." Zelda rested a hand over top her bloodied left shoulder, though it no longer bled, and the flow of the river had revealed the wound to be less severe than it had first appeared.

Zelda turned to Commander Ralis, who began again to clutch his side. "Don't," she said, and the commander's hand drew back instantly. "If you undo the stitches, you'll stretch the wound till it catches, and then you'll die of something more painful than a sword." She lifted an index finger up and began to pace the darkness.

"Commander, I'll need you to leave and gather what Zoran forces you can," Zelda said. "Locate stragglers from the assault if you can, but focus on gathering the reserves. Take them to the western stronghold and send letter to the Archives once your task is done. My father will have to cut through much of Catalia to reach you, so you're guaranteed at least a week to prepare yourselves."

"…a week is not time enough to raise a new army, Princess Zelda," Commander Ralis said, staggering to his feet. He stood stronger than he had in some time.

"No, but it will give me the time I need to find an alternate approach." She paced again. "My father is not eternal. He was incapacitated centuries ago without the aid of a Link, so it stands to reason that he can be again." Zelda crossed one arm over her chest and scratched at her chin with the other. "I will not allow him the satisfaction of raping two countries."

By age fourteen, Zelda created a warrior.

The weakness of the girl in rags gave way to Impa—the warrior Of Shadow and Nothing. The girl's form grew from something skeletal to something strong. She was no longer the sheep, and she went about her training bearing the tribal warpaint of those from whom she took her name and her fighting style.

The girl of nothing was two years younger than the one who trained her, but such a discrepancy was impossible to observe. From a physical standpoint, Zelda and Impa were much the same in form, save for a growing difference in height. They fought whenever time was allocated to them, but always with the intention of improving.

Not once did the girl of nothing triumph over Zelda, but she persisted even so, and there came a point when they were matched in their abilities.

At fourteen, Zelda presented Impa to her father. They came to him bearing the formalwear required by those who appeared in court. Zelda wore an outfit predominantly of purple, lined with gold. The sweat and injuries of her fights were, for the first time, masked. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun against her head, revealing eyes that conspired with every glance.

Though Impa was much the same, her position as servant showed in her garments. The fabric was of lesser make than of that from which Zelda's clothes were sewn, but against Impa's toned form, it mattered little. She wore a dark blue outfit that covered her upper and lower body, leaving her arms bare. It was plain, and though it possessed seams, there was no clear way to remove it. Across her face, the red warpaint of the _Shéikah_, the center point of which was her nose. From it, the paint spread in thick lines across all of her face.

Together, they knelt before the throne of Zelda's father, a throne that was dark and mutated, pulsing and writhing as if itself alive. It was an evil, black thing that stretched up the ceiling and seemed to reach into every part of the keep, infecting even the floor upon which Zelda and Impa stood.

"And this is her," father said. He leaned forward in his throne. On this day, he wore armor; plate of black covered in golden runes. Beneath him, a cape that fell forth past his ankles. He was unshaven, and the thick of his stubble grew into a short red beard. "You impress me, daughter."

"Thank you, father," Zelda said, but there was no love to her tone, and she did not meet her father's gaze.

Father rose from his throne. Above them, he was a mountain, casting a shadow that seemed to engulf the room. He stepped forth, wrapping a thick, armored hand around Impa's arm and lifting the girl from the floor. "But how strong is she, I wonder?"

Father sniffed.

Zelda's lips parted, as if she meant to speak, but could not.

"I will… test her when she is of age,"[ASB1] [ASB2] he said, and released Impa, who struggled back into a kneeling position, the arm which father had grasped swollen and unable to bear her weight. It was then that father's eyes narrowed, and his gaze upon Impa turned cold. "She is taller than you."

Again, Zelda's lips parted to speak words that would not come.

"Perhaps I should find a second who knows that it is never to lift itself above its betters."

"…no, father." The words came at last, though their emergence was a struggle.

And then father's gaze turned to Zelda, changing in tone. It was amused, a smile blossoming across his face. He encircled them, his eyes evaluating—analytical. "But no. I would not separate you two yet. In fact, daughter—"

Zelda rose

"—I am planning to entertain a guest at dinner today. You will bring your second and demonstrate what you have taught her. If she does not please, I will kill her, and you will be brought another to mold."

"Yes, father."

Father turned to face his throne and waved a hand to dismiss them. "Go. I will be along shortly."

Zelda left, and Impa followed. No words were exchanged between the two, but there was a trading of glances. Zelda led, and they walked to the dining room. In it, visiting dignitaries of various races clustered together and spoke in low tones. Though the grand table was before them and seating available, none of them risked sitting.

As she was to do always, Zelda sat to the right of the table's head, keeping her back rigid against the wood of the chair, and staring straight ahead. Behind her, Impa stood, hands interlaced behind her back. As she was servant, she was to stand.

The hall had grown silent at Zelda's entrance, and it was only after much time had passed that one of the dignitaries approached, moving to Zelda's side and falling to one knee. This one was male, Hylian, a young race with fair, youthful faces and pointed ears. The Hylian was young, and his clothes of fanciful make seemed to engulf him as he walked, as if made for someone larger.

"Your Highness," he said in a cautious tone of voice. When Zelda did not respond, the man looked at the floor, then up, then to the floor a second time. "…forgive me, I did not mean to intrude."

"My father will be along shortly."

The man nodded and stumbled to his feet, catching himself on the table as he rose. His hair was slick and clumped with sweat, and all hints of composure absent. "Yes, Your Highness. Forgive me, You Highness."

Zelda said nothing more to the man, and in time, the gathered dignitaries took seats around the table. Each bowed to Zelda and offered polite greeting, but none seemed reassured by it, even when sitting. They were a nervous, twitchy group. They watched the shadows as if they were beasts, and eyes Zelda with more fear than respect.

Father entered.

The room exploded with noise as double doors were thrown open, crashing against the stone of the walls behind them. One came loose from its hinges and fell as it rocked back and forth. But Father paid no heed to the doors. He glided across the room, the red underside of his cape flowing in the face of nonexistent wind.

The dignitaries clamored into standing positions.

Yet when he took his place at the head of the table, he was calm. He smiled and nodded to those who stood for him, giving them leave to sit again. When they did so, he rested his arms over his chest and spoke. "I hope you are all hungry."

Father waited.

When nothing followed his words, he glared into the shadows that crept about the edge of the room.

Further into the keep, someone screamed. It was prolonged, agonizing, and did not end until Father rapped his fist against the wood of the table, after which it ceased.

"Forgive me, _honored_ guests," he said as he rose. "There is a delay in the preparation of our meal." He bowed to those gathered, though it was exaggerated. "I will see to it that those responsible are disciplined accordingly." He disappeared out the door through which he'd entered, a whirl of anger and black plate.

Seconds after he left, there was a mass of sighs. Those around the table shook with all the anxiety of before, but they moved with greater freedom. The same Hylian who'd approached Zelda before did so again, falling to his knees with less grace than before. In his eyes, fresh tears. He stared at her feet.

"Please, Your Highness." His voice was small. "Your father means to starve Ordona. He will see the province burnt the ground before autumn's end! Please speak to him! I beg, you, Your Highness!' The Hylian seemed close to breaking, and brought both hands up to wipe away tears.

None of the others spoke.

Impa remained stoic in her silence, and did not respond to the pleas.

Zelda said nothing.

"Please, Your Highness!"

Father entered, quietly this time. He was followed by a trembling entourage of emaciated Hylian servants, each of whom assisted the carrying of covered silver dishes. They struggled to ease the dishes onto the table and uncover them, but under Father's gaze, managed to do so. So small and insignificant were the servants that they slipped away without gathering the notice of anyone.

The Hylian dignitary who'd approached Zelda stumbled back, falling to the floor even as he tried to catch himself on a chair.

Father towered over him, smiling. "And you dare," he said.

He wrapped a giant, armored hand around the Hylian's head and crushed it. The noise was small, muffled by the size of Father's armor, and was little more than the shattering of an egg shell. Blood ran between his fingers as he tossed the corpse to the shadows, where it was consumed, and the area cleaned of blood by some unseen force.

Father again took his place at the head of the table. "My apologies for the disruption," he said, but there was more than a hint of mocking in his voice. "You are to serve yourselves today." He made a wide gesture to the food placed before them. It was grand, roasted animals, deserts, vegetables, plants that no one seemed to recognize, and its very presence seemed to brighten the room.

None of the dignitaries moved to be the first to taste, so it was Zelda who served herself first. She did not touch the meat offered, and filled her plate with an assortment of vegetables.

The first to follow suite was Zoran—a race of amphibious humanoids native to the south. At the table sat two of them, both female. Unlike the others races, they wore no clothes, allowing for the white of their forms to be observed. From both their arms protruded pale blue fins, and from the backs of their heads, elongated skulls that ended in the tail of a fish. Their eyes were of pure black.

No one spoke, but Father seemed to take such pleasure in the silence. He did not eat, choosing instead to watch, resting his head against the back of his chair and leering across the heads of all those gathered. At each given moment, he seemed poised to laugh. When many minutes had passed, he said, "Gathered friends, my daughter requested that she be able to demonstrate the fruits of her training before you."

There was a shifting of eyes to Zelda, who stood. She was dressed still in her formalwear.

She turned to Impa.

There was no bow or acknowledgement of the beginning of the fight, for it began as soon as they shared a gaze. In a flurry of arms, they fought. At one point, Zelda forced Impa to the ground, only to have the hold twisted and their positions reversed. They moved with fury and skill far beyond any other of their age, let alone that of their elders, and by the time Father stood and ended the fight, both were bloodied and bruised, Zelda's arm hung limp at its side, wrenched from its socket; two of Impa's ribs were broken and a third fractured.

There was no reaction to this event, save for Father's. He's laughed and clapped, and when Zelda again sat down beside him, he rested a massive hand across her shoulder. But as the other guests continued their meal, there was a fear about them, and no longer did any of them look to Zelda.


	3. 3

They were two again, Zelda and Impa as they traveled into the heart of Catalia, for the Kokiri remained in the resistance enclave. Though the country stood untouched the corruption of Hylium, the signs crept through its landscape. The bark of trees withered and fell freely from their trunks. Inky tendrils of black crept through the soil, occasionally emerging topside.

Untouched by such darkness, however, was the city of Forea, Catalia's walled off capital, built into the side of a mountain and stretching near ten square miles in size. At the center, a stronghold that looked nigh impregnable, and appeared to be little more than a wall with windows and soldiers manning its battlements.

Outside the city, refugees clustered around the city gate, some Hylian, but most Human. Makeshift camps had been set up near the river that ran alongside Forea, and a city in itself rose up from the mess of war-torn victims.

At the sight of Zelda, those who took refuge before the city cleared from her path, each bearing a twisted mixture of rage and terror, but nothing so great that any be compelled to face her. Zelda approached the gate without incident: a portcullis great in scope that once might have let in a hundred men at once, but stood closed, leaving those outside to linger about Forea's granite walls.

At the gate, a dozen soldiers leveled their weapons at Zelda.

She lifted her hands in surrender, but a smile teased at the edges of her lips. "I am here representing the Hylium Resistance," she said. "Your Empress is expecting me."

There was a mass of shifting among those who watched Zelda.

"If I wanted to enter your city by force, you would be dead, and I would be inside."

One of the soldiers lowered his weapon and broke away from the group, entering the city's wall through a side passage, disappearing for many minutes. He returned with a taller man whose armor was of superior make to those who followed him. The visor of his helmet was up, revealing a grizzled face in need of a razor. He evaluated Zelda for a moment, then those who followed her.

At last, he lifted a hand and nodded.

The weapons leveled at Zelda were lowered.

"Idle threats do not make any of us comfortable, Princess Zelda," he said. The man brought a hand to his side, where it rested near the hilt of his sword.

"I did not threaten. I stated a fact."

Silence lingered for a moment. The man in armor gestured for Zelda to follow, and turned to the door. The way was opened for them, and shut the moment they'd entered.

It was a well-lit passage, and wide enough that many men could move through it at once if the need arose. They passed through many branches, and passed many soldiers, all of whom slowed and eased past Zelda, never allowing their gaze to leave her so long as she was without spitting distance.

"The city isn't at its best," the man in armor said as he led them. "Thousands of refugees from Hylium fled here shortly before the assault on your father's keep. We're allowing them to trickle in and acclimate, but we'll soon have to begin turning them away." There was a note of accusation in his voice. "Empress Corena is operating from below ground through a lookalike until we're able to secure a non-aggression pact with your father."

The path they trudged through grew darker and narrower, and light sparser, but the tunnels remained alit through frequent sconces, and they were never left in the dark for more than a second. Water laced the air, and from above, the noise of running water echoed into the depths.

"My father has will never hold to a non-aggression pact," Zelda said.

"It's not my place to comment."

"I don't believe I caught your name."

"Colin Grey. I am Empress Corena's Shield."

Zelda nodded and smiled as she walked, but said nothing.

So they walked in silence, till the paths again grew wider, and the frequent sconces were replaced by lamps. The air grew less moist, and a rug of deep red stretched out across the ground ahead of them. At the rug's end, an airtight door of thick metal with a slat at eye level for communication through both sides of the door.

Colin Grey leaned against the door and rapped his knuckles against it in a gesture that was almost casual.

Someone opened the slat and looked through, but it was a brief gesture, and the slat closed just as quickly. Only the other side, a series of clicks and noises that lasted for near half a minute as locks and securities were undone. When the door opened, it opened into a spacious room remade into a bedroom and study area. Immediately on the other side of the door was a younger man, smaller than Colin Grey, but who appeared just as well armed.

At the sight of Zelda, however, the younger man drew his sword from his sheath and gripped it with both hands, shifting into a combat stance. "_Her_," he said, as if the word were acid spewing from his tongue.

Colin Grey intervened, pushing the blade aside and towering over the younger man. Even in the darkness of tunnels, the shadow he cast was impressive. "Calm your nerves. Princess Zelda is with us," he said, and then, in near whisper, "For better or for worse, she's with us."

The younger man hesitated, but eventually sheathed his sword. But in his gaze, there was no kindness, and no room for mercy.

Zelda smiled and laughed.

"Your sense of timing has not abandoned you, I see," came a new voice. Behind the desk that rested in the middle of the room sat a woman three years Zelda's senior, with pale skin and a head of black hair. The clothes she wore were plain and unarmored, an act that seemed almost in defiance of the circumstances. When she looked to Zelda, she crossed her arms over the desk and frowned.

At last unimpeded, Zelda stepped forward, her hands held behind her back. There was a certain arrogant gait to the manner in which she walked. "Corena."

"And you have no blood with you," Corena said, gesturing to those who followed Zelda's lead. "Do you intend to throw them to the wolves as you have so many of my people?"

"I work to preserve _civilization_, Corena, as do you."

"And yet you bring war with your footsteps."

They exchanged glances and silence.

Zelda gestured to Impa. "You have not met my second, Impa."

Impa bowed as her name was spoken, but the gesture was light. Even so, it was a gesture Corena returned, difficult as it was do so while sitting.

Corena stood then. She walked around her desk till she could lean against it and face Zelda, keeping her arms crossed. The gaze she shared with Zelda cooled for the moment, and she sighed, before saying, "You will have no more men for your grinder, Princess Zelda. I will evacuate what I can of my country and take them across the Great Sea."

"Suicide."

"Then we will die knowing that we did not give up hope."

"Even if you fled to the heavens, my father would find you. There is no place that he cannot go, and it will only be a matter of time before he comes to Catalia." Zelda smirked. "He may be on his way here as we speak, marching with his beasts. His taint already spreads across your borders."

"Because of the men you threw so casually at him."

"Because it is his nature to claim. If he does not own it, he will, and if he cannot, it will belong to no one."

"Catalia will find a way to compromise."

"There can be no compromise. My father ceased being rational years ago."

Behind Zelda, Impa shifted, her composure lost for a moment, but regained before it could be taken notice of.

"I am here for a purpose, Corena," Zelda said, and her manner shifted. There was no humor to her voice, and she walked with a purpose, even though she took but a single step forward. "I require access to the Archives, and I though it better to inform you of my doing so, rather than kill soldiers Catalia is in such great need of."

There was no single emotion to Corena's reaction. She furrowed her brow and leaned further against her desk, bringing a hand up to cup her chin, which she scratched thoughtfully. When she next spoke, the jibes of her previous words desisted. "You did not find everything you needed when you were here last?"

"No."

"Then what are you looking for?"

"For what which came before my father."

"You aim to defeat Ganondorf with relics?"

"He has always been defeated by relics. I am looking for something more available."

"And you believe you will find more than you did during your first visit?"

"The fall of the army at Capital City has taught me a great deal. Your Archives hold secrets beyond even the understanding of those who constructed them." Zelda circled around Empress Corena's desk, an action that drew the wariness of her Shield, who followed Zelda's steps with one hand kept on the hilt of his blade. "For many centuries, we have combatted my father the impression that his abilities come from the golden power."

Zelda's hand passed across the spines of the books clustered on the shelves at the edges of the room, ending on the top of a newer title with a blank spine.

"But I believe it to be something different. If it is because of my father that the Link first appeared, why is it that records of such a being stretch back even to the days of those who lived above the clouds?" She pulled the book from the shelf. Somewhere behind it, a mechanism clicked, and the bookshelf opened outward, revealing a second chamber.

The second room was smaller, little more accommodating than a walk-in closet, but inside sat a smaller series of shelves, two tall, running along the length of the wall. The tomes stores upon them were ancient, and seemed poised to crumble at the slightest touch. Some were not bound at all, and were little more than a collection of parchment.

Above the shelf, engraved into the wall, was a larger version of the symbol of the ancient royal family of Hyrule: three equilateral triangles, above which rose a red thunderbird.

Colin's sword approached Zelda from behind, his sword drawn. He held the tip of his sword to Zelda's back as he said, "You do not have permission from Her Majesty to—" The sentence was left unfinished, for the man was subdued a moment later by Impa, who disabled him with two blows to his abdomen and a broken knee. He was then grabbed and tossed a safe distance from Zelda, who'd not bothered to turn from her work.

Zelda placed her hands across the top of the bookshelf, where a thick layer of dust had developed. "I wondered then where someone would hide such knowledge. After all, if someone were to discover the source of my father's evil, they would find the beginning of the Link. Of Hyrule. Perhaps all of creation."

Zelda moved her left hand to the lower-left of the triangles making up the royal symbol.

"But it took only a moment's thought, for if such a riddle was complex, it would never be solved. The answer itself is obvious."

Zelda pushed on the triangle. It withdrew into the wall and slid aside, revealing a small compartment larger enough barely to accommodate for a hand. Within, a small book bound in black leather. Zelda withdrew it, smiled for a second, and peeled back the cover—and narrowed her eyes. She closed the book, lifted it with one hand, and said to Corena, "What is this?"

Empress Corena's stare was of surprise, horror, and anger.

"What is this?"

"It is what Catalia exists to protect."

"It's a code. What is it for?"

When Corena did not speak, Zelda turned to Impa and said, "Kill the Shield."

Impa did so. Colin Grey remained grounded by the previous strike, and fell to the crushing of his neck. When the young man moved to retaliate for the death, Impa subdued him with a blow to the abdomen, rupture his stomach.

"What is the code for?" Zelda said, holding the open page to Corena's face. "You will die just as easily as your soldiers, Corena. How long will it be till the death of your country outweighs the necessity to protect the secrets?"

Corena said nothing.

Zelda wrapped a hand around Corena's throat and lifted her from the ground, turning and shoving her against one of the many bookshelves lining the room. "'_Fi: Emergency Command Code Zero-One_. You have five seconds before I lose my patience. If you will not tell me, I will discover its meaning for myself—and then I will raze Catalia to the ground for your insubordination."

Beneath the hand, Corena squirmed. She fought against Zelda's grip, but it was a fight she could not win. Her mouth opened and closed and twisted in attempts to bring in air, but the hold was too tight. "Fi!" she said when her mouth allowed it. Beneath, the twitching of her feet lessened.

Zelda released Corena, but shoved her against the book case as the Empress touched the ground. It was a moved that cracked three ribs. "What is Fi?"

Corena gasped at air, her form threatening to collapse, even as Zelda held her.

Zelda pressed harder.

Corena cried out in pain. "Fi! It—it's—artificial life! In the Master—Sword!"

Zelda drew back, a sudden look of contemplation spreading across her face. "The intelligence controlling the sword's ability to choose its wielder, of course! No matter the magic, an object is incapable of self-awareness without a being manipulating it."

Zelda peeled back the cover yet again. As she did so, the binding loosened and the pages slipped from the spine, held in place only by Zelda's hand. "Such measures to protect a single command phrase," she said under her breath, continuing to stare at the string of words as she walked away from Corena, towards the reinforced door through which they'd entered. But before leaving, she closed the book and turned to Corena, who had only just staggered over to her desk.

"Don't bother," Zelda said. "I disconnected the communication line during my original visit to the Archives."

Even so, Corena pulled at the metal cord running under the lip of her desk. When it accomplished nothing, she stared at it, then at Zelda. The pain of broken bones pushed her to tears, but did not break what remained of her composure.

"Thank you, Corena," Zelda said, undoing the locks holding the reinforced entrance shut. "Now run to your ships with your people and know that you died a coward."

At age seventeen, Zelda asked of her father, "What was Hylium like before your rule?"

She sat to his right at the dining table when he responded. Impa stood behind her, ever vigilant. Though they were older, Impa remained the taller.

Father drew away from his meal and rested both elbows on the table. A servant came to collect his supper-ware a moment later, bowing as he did so. When Father looked to Zelda, he looked upon her with suspicious curiosity. The words were slow when they came, and his lips parted with great care. "Hylium was once a place of chaos. The races warred amongst themselves, and our people were cast off as the dregs of society. There was no equality until I came."

Though another might have approached the subject with caution, Zelda did not. She drew her elbows to her lap, and a servant came to collect her supper-ware, bowing to her as he did. "What happened to our people?"

"Why such curiosity?"

"A strong ruler learns from the past."

"You will not need to rule for many years." Father narrowed his eyes, and the great darkness of his face twisted into a frown.

"But what happened to our people?"

"They perished in their weakness." Father said nothing more. He leaned back in his chair and rested his chin on his fists, signifying that the conversation ended with those words.

Zelda stood and said, "Excuse me, father."

Ganondorf lifted a casual hand, and Zelda stayed. "Your Second is to come with me today. I will expect her in my chambers."

Impa contained her reaction well. Her eyes widened and her mouth parted as if she meant to object, but then she remembered her place and fell silent. Even so, her composure was lost. Where she stood, she trembled, and no longer looked straight ahead, her gaze fallen to the floor.

Though Zelda said nothing, it seemed to take all of her strength. She turned from the dining table and said, "Yes, father," leaving the dining room soon after. Impa followed, staying closer to Zelda than was proper. Behind them, father remained at the table, a look of cool arrogance on his face.

In Zelda's chambers, Impa's composure failed. She cried out, though the noise was muffled, and her body began to tremble. In spite of the reaction, she remained at Zelda's side.

Zelda did not face Impa. In the weakest of voices, she said, "…you should prepare."

Impa's nod came, but it was slow, and disingenuous. She left moments later. Her steps were silent, and Zelda did not know the exact moment she left the room. Impa did not return for hours, and Zelda stayed in her room, where she locked the door and did not leave.

It was later that a knock came at her door—a slow knock.

Zelda did not look through the slat to see who knocked. She opened the door slowly and found Impa on the other side. The girl was ragged, and the lower half of her blue garment had been ripped away to reveal the bare flesh of her crotch. Her hair had been ripped from its bun and strewn across her head. She cried, and stared at Zelda with wide red eyes still fresh with tears.

Zelda could say nothing.

When Impa entered the room, she fell into Zelda, as if her body no longer possessed the will to move.

Zelda caught her and lowered Impa to the ground, where she sat and held her, comforting the younger girl as best she could. She heard fierce beat of Impa's heart, and as their cheeks pressed together, she felt the roll of fresh tears down the girl's face. She held the girl and thought of what could be said, yet she could think of nothing to say.

With soft hands, she kissed Impa atop her head, running a hand across the back of the girl's neck. She held Impa to her, and hid the expression of rage that twisted about her face, one that she could not express even then. She kissed Impa atop the head again and held her close.

Impa stayed in Zelda's chambers that night, and Zelda stood watch.

In the morning, she left Impa to recover, and went to her father in the throne room. He sat atop his mutated throne and towered above his empty room. When Zelda came to him, she did not kneel. She hid the anger in her voice and said, "Why did our people abandon you?"

The question seemed to irritate him. "Because they were weak."

"That is not an answer."

Father looked to her truly then, and his expression was not kind. "Do you question me, daughter?"

"Is it because you would force them to your bedchamber?"

"Your Second is of age."

"She is _fifteen_."

Father came upon Zelda then and lifted her by the throat. "You will remember your place, daughter," he said, and threw her aside. "If it is my desire that your toy come to my room a dozen times more, you will comply. For all that she is yours, she was mine first." Father left the throne room, and left Zelda to her coughing.

As Zelda righted herself, she felt certain levity, as if she were able to see clearly for the first time.


	4. 4

They went west through jagged mountains that existed as parallels to those of Hylium's, and then at last across grasslands and plans, where the corruption of Ganondorf spread deep into Catalia. Inky black veins ran beneath the soil, destroying all that which they passed through. A grey spread through the grass and the trees, and the temperature fell till the wind spoke of a bitter winter.

During their travels, they avoided what they spread of the Hylium corruption, for nearing it seemed to sap energy. Further west, they traveled by ferry up the Rotanien River, a flow of water that moved northwest, in contrast to all that was normal. It was night as the ferry passed the midway of its journey, and the bitter cold set in.

It was at the ferry's edge that Impa leaned forward against the rail and said, "How will we confront your father without an army?"

Zelda was beside her. "Directly, for I believe that is what he wants."

"…what he wants, princess?"

"There is dangerous foolishness to such an assumption, yes." Zelda stopped and rested her hand atop the railing, staring down into water turned black. "But I believe my father is no longer in complete control of his actions. He has always desired power and expansion, but he was at one time rational. He knew to stop, to make allegiances with those who would prove too resistant to change."

Zelda glanced at Impa out of the corner of her eye.

"It began after he brought you to me. He lost all semblance of reason. There was no quelling his violent tendencies—but through it, hints at something different. I believe, in spite of my father's actions, that he meant to push me to something. When he stole you away to his bed chamber, he knew that it would infuriate me—that whatever control he held over me would deteriorate."

At the mention of rape, Impa's expression did not change, though her breathing grew tense.

"It believe even his rebuttal to the assault on Hylium Keep was in part my father's influence. He could have sent his creatures to seek me out, but he did not. He could have chosen to strike at the refuges scattered throughout Hylium, yet as of so far, no word has been received of an attack on any of them."

For a moment, Zelda seemed almost sad. Strands of her red hair whipped out of their braid and slapped against the side of her head. "Something seeks to obliterate my father from the inside, something that scares even him, and he is guiding my safe-passage to a solution."

"What will you do when he is dead?"

Zelda faced her second. "I will leave."

"You will not assume the throne?"

"Would you lead a campaign against a tyrant, only to see that tyrant's blood take the throne once again? I do not want the throne, nor have I ever wanted it."

"Then what will you do?"

"Why probe, Impa? Do you have a thought?"

With a hardened, twisted gaze of emotional uncertainty, Impa turned from Zelda and said, with a voice almost a whisper, "I do not want you do die."

"You believe I'm going to die?"

To that, Impa did not respond. The red of her warpaint had faded, and had not been reapplied in such time that the pale her normal complexion showed through, a complexion that no longer complemented the blue of her garb. As her arms hung over the protective railing, there was limpness to them.

Zelda placed a hand upon Impa's shoulder and squeezed. "I will not die, Impa. My goals are far too great to see me perish now. My father's death will only be the beginning." The words that came next did not come as easily, and she stumbled over the first. "And—I would not leave you. I no longer order you, but I would ask that you stay at my side."

Impa lifted a hand to touch the fingers that lingered atop her shoulder, and nodded. "I am yours, princess."

They passed into Kokiri then, for Kokiri was as much a place as it was a people. Like the influence of Hylium, it pulsated and grew, but not as a corruption. It was a forest, ever changing and molding, stretching and retracting on all sides so that it could never be entered by those with ill intentions. The forest controlled even the river, stretching across the body of water till passage up was blocked, leaving the ferry to reverse the spin of its wheel and paddle up river.

Zelda and Impa exited by diving into the water and swimming to shore against the force of a powerful current, leaving both soaked to the bone as they moved about the forest's perimeter. Though shadows of what lay further in could be seen through the cracks of the underbrush, the density was too great to allow for travel.

At last, Zelda stopped in her walking of the perimeter and shouted to whoever lay within. "I am Zelda Dragmire," she called. "And I will have entrance into the woods of the Kokiri. My business is with the prophet."

The forest was silent for many minutes, until a section of the underbrush peeled back, allowing for entrance. As Zelda stepped further in, the path continued to form. Behind her—behind Impa—the path sealed itself, sealing them off from all but the faintest of lights: a green glow that seemed to permeate the forest floor whenever it was visible.

They came to an area deep within the forest where the trees grew sparse, and the entangling and numerous plantlife gave way to an empty field of grass. It was a small clearing, a circle a mere ten feet wide. In it waited a Kokiri who was not like the others. She was of bare flesh, and the plants served only to supplement her form, creeping overtop her flesh. Her hair was green, and stretched to down her back to the tops of her ankles—but she bore the white eyes of the Kokiri.

"Prophet," Zelda said, a statement rather than a greeting.

The Kokiri was not facing them to start. It—she, for its form was female—swiveled to them in a noiseless gesture, the balls of its feet hovering atop the ground. She moved as if from a dream, wispy and light, ever-flowing in her movements. "Seed of forever," were the Kokiri's words. "You besieged memories and were cast out."

"I do not have time for games, prophet. I have come to see the Master Sword."

The prophet looked to the lump in Zelda's coat that hid the journal bound in leather of black. "You have come to besiege the memories, and you will be cast out as before. The mark of power is tainted beyond taint, and knows only chaos. The sword of ends knows too of this chaos, and you will not have it."

Zelda dismissed the words with a wave of her hand, but it was not to her that the prophet spoke next.

To Impa, the prophet said, "She plots the unknowable destruction of all that is and will ever be. She heralds even greater death than that of the taint. Know who it is you follow, girl of the rags."

"I know who I follow," Impa said.

From her hip, Zelda drew a dagger and pointed it to the prophet's throat. The Kokiri's acknowledgment of the blade came slowly, and it was only many seconds later that the prophets eyes changed. "Take me to your temple, prophet," Zelda said. "I no longer care for your self-fulfilling prophecies."

"The memories are ever-changing, seed of forever."

"Take me anyway."

The plants that stretched across the surface of the prophet's flesh twisted away, flinging themselves to the ground, where they burrowed into the dirt. For a moment, there was silence—till the clearing lowered into the ground, engulfing all those on it in darkness. The ground above sealed itself, and Zelda and Impa were cast into the green light of the forest.

In the darkness, the Kokiri offered parting words. "You will perish, seed of forever," she said. "All that is accomplished will be in vain, for the death of the seed will unwind time itself."

"I'll deal with it."

Darkness came, and Zelda no longer felt Impa's presence. In the shadows, she whirled around—

—a boy in green boy cried in the woods. He was twelve in years, and fell to his knees. He cried and called out a name Zelda could not hear, for the word was muffled and distorted, as was the image of the boy. He did not see her, and the image flickered to darkness mere moments after manifesting itself.

Zelda stumbled back, holding her hand to her throat as if she could not breathe—

—the woods again, dark and lonely, but changed. The trees were older, and twisted and gnarled as if dying. The boy in green wandered, but he was no longer a boy. He was ten years older, stronger, yet somehow still young. He walked through the forest and called out the name Zelda could not hear. Through the weakness of his voice and the dead of his eyes, it became apparent he had been calling the name for many years.

Someone else came through the woods then and found the boy in green. She was womanly and inhuman, blue and lithe. Silver hair tumbled down the pale blue flesh of her neck. Across her back was folded a pair of shimmering wings that glowed through their own power. Each step she took was a song unto itself.

When the boy in green rushed to the woman, Zelda was drawn back into the darkness.

In that darkness, she glimpsed for a moment a skeleton amidst the shadows, clad in golden armor.

The image was passing.

When the world was next light, she stood in a desert, among towering ruins and shifting dunes of sand. Atop a great number of steps stood a mirror, circular and black, engraved with runes of white and silver. Beside it stood a woman with flesh of gray, clad in a black hood that stretched down the entirety of her back.

Zelda saw the boy in green again—and yet not. The boy was not the same, though he carried many similarities. He was older than the first and younger than the second, and had weary eyes. He looked to the woman in black with love and affection, and he smiled whenever she met his gaze.

The woman in black stepped through the mirror inscribed with runes of white and silver, and disappeared. Behind her, the mirror cracked. The boy in green staggered forward, running and screaming the woman's name, but he could not reach her before she was gone, and the mirror split into a hundred thousand fragments.

—the same boy, but unshaven. His clothes were ill-kept, and he stood in an empty plane of white, where light carried no meaning. In one hand, he held a deformed black shard, the very material of which seemed to bleed darkness. The second later, the boy drove the spike into his upper arm, where its influence spread throughout his body. Glyphs of blue and green spread across flesh that faded in shade to a pale gray.

The boy keeled over as the transformation took its hold—and disappeared.

The persistent white of the realm remained

"Why are you here?" came a voice that Zelda was able to understand. At its source, the found the skeleton glimpsed before. It walked and talked, for enough flesh remained around its jaw that it was able to speak. Much of its form was clad in decayed golden armor, the material of which had begun to rust away, leaving gaping holes that revealed a transparent, spectral form.

"You're the Link," Zelda said, and moved to a business-like tone. As the skeleton stayed in place, she circled around it, inspecting every facet of its form. "Your dialect matches the period, and the armor bears similarities to the set entered into exhibit in Catalia."

She stopped and lifted her chin.

"Link _First_," she said.

"And you are of Ganondorf."

"Ganondorf sired me, but I am not his."

Through its astral form, the skeleton blinked. Its head twisted as it followed Zelda's movements—then its head began to change. The skeleton's body morphed and changed till it carried a body of flesh, bearing garments of green and a sword with a blue hilt across its back. In the final steps of its transformation, it at last looked male.

"I am the Hero of Time," it said.

"No, you're not. You're an incorporeal projection based on the memories of the Kokiri, brought to life to serve as a test to those wishing to approach the Master Sword. You are an imitation, nothing more."

"Why are you here?" the Link said.

"For the blade of evil's bane."

"You are not the Link."

"I am the embodiment of courage in a world that has been abandoned by the cycle of the gods. You are a projection of a man long dead. Do not think to question me."

"It was the failure of the Link that brought on the cycle of death."

Those words gave Zelda pause. She ceased in her pacing and faced the spectre. "What are you talking about?"

"The Link Second abandoned the cycle to pursue the queen of Twilight. To do so, he severed his connection to the world of light, and ended the cycle of Link."

Zelda's brow furrowed. She brought one hand up to massage her chin in contemplation. "How can you know that?"

"The Kokiri know of all the cycles. Their memories are eternal. They have existed since the True First."

"'True' First?"

"He who came from the sky."

"Then you were not the first."

"No, I was not."

"But you were the first to face my father. Who did the True First face?"

"Link True faces a darkness that waged war on the heavens, the darkness from which all evil comes. Link True forged the blade of ends and cast down the darkness, only to find that it could not be destroyed utterly. In desperation, he sealed what he could of it within the blade itself, hoping that essence which remained would perish on its own."

"What was this darkness called?"

But the spectre was silent.

"_Where is it now_?"

"It is in you, seed of forever."

Zelda's next words snagged in her throat. Her eyes widened in her first true expression of surprise. But she regained her composure before the change in her expression could become evident, and said in a controlled voice, "Take me to the Master Sword."

"You are not—"

"I have given up more for Hylium than any of the Links ever did! You _will_ _take me to see the damn sword_."

The spectre seemed to give the demand some thought. His eyes fell out of focus, and his jaw hung open as if caught midsentence. "You are not the Link, but you have shown great courage. You will have the Master Sword, the sword of ends, and blade of evil's bane, should you pass the trial."

Even as the spectre emphasized the final word, Zelda waved a hand to dismiss it. She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Fine. I will pass your trial, and then I will do what your cycle could not."

The spectre considered her. At last, it reached to its back and slid from its sheath a longsword, the hilt of which was colored blue and spread as if a pair of wings. It drove the blade into the ground, imbedding it by a third, and vanished.

Zelda was left to the white, lightless realm.

She waited, as if expecting some trick of the Link. When nothing came, she took cautious steps forward, her stance tight and prepared, ready at every moment for combat, until she at last stood before the sword. The hilt called to her, repeating in her thoughts an endless slew of words she could not understand. When she wrapped a hand around the pommel, she felt a warmth and a strength.

But she could not draw the blade.

Around her, the world changed. It became a vortex of color, a tornado through which nothing else could be seen. Only the ground beneath her feet remained stable, a shattered floor of gray tiles.

Before her stood a being greater in size than even her father, whose flesh was black stone and from the back of whose head erupted a mane of fire. In its left hand, it held a twisted mockery of the Master Sword. A blade of black and red, writhing and pulsing in form, the steel branded with the seal of the Hyrulian royal family.

At age eighteen, Zelda abandoned Hylium Keep.

She vanished into the perpetual night and took everything of note from her room, carrying under her arm a disheveled stack of loose parchment dating back to the beginning of her schemes, written in cypher. Always, Impa went with her. The girl once of rags accompanied Zelda without objection, and followed each of her words without question.

Then Zelda came to know the resistance.

They gathered in Catalia, for Catalia was the only civilized place yet untouched by the corruption of Ganondorf. A room in the mountains harbored them, sheltered from all the storms of the outside world. As representatives, they gathered around a stone table and spoke as equals.

But Zelda was a newcomer.

The one who brought her to the gathering was called Ashei. She was a young woman, strong in the face. Her hair was a deep black, and tied back in a bun, save for a braid on either side of her head that hung in loops. Her armor was golden and tarnished, and glittered in the light of the three lanterns that kept the room aglow.

There was no consensus of greeting when Zelda took her seat at the table—a seat that had been scavenged from elsewhere and forced between two of those already present. In response, she offered silence.

"This is Zelda, yeah?" Ashei said, the thick of her mountainous accent curving her words. "She's bein' with us now. She's agreed to provide information about the structural weaknesses of Capital City, and Ganondorf's troop movements, yeah?"

One of the men at the table stood—a human. He too was older, grizzled, and looked to have once been a man of war. "And you didn't consider the implications of bringing Ganondorf's daughter into our midst? How long until we discover her loyalty to her father, and all our heads end up on pikes?"

"I'm trustin' my gut, Auru. Keep it down."

But the one addressed as Auru did not sit. "I will not see this group torn apart by your recklessness!"

"I can speak for myself," Zelda said. She sat her parchment atop the table as if the exchange had never taken place, and rested her chin on her hands.

The table fell silent, even Auru, though he remained standing, his arms placed upon the table, spread wide, and prepared for violence.

"My father controlled me until a year ago," Zelda said, "until he made the mistake of testing the limits of that control. I have plotted against him for years, recording each weakness in his defenses, every hidden contingent of creatures, and all his lapses in thought. If he knew I possessed such information, he would kill me himself. Even if I were acting as his agent, he would kill me."

From the side of the table opposite of Zelda, someone rose. Its form was larger than any other, and its body was a bulbous, rocklike thing with beady black eyes. When it spoke, its mouth cracked and groaned, and the words sounded unnatural. "The Gorons say she stays," the creature said before dropping again the floor, for it was tall enough that it remained at able to see over the table, even when sitting upon the ground.

Another spoke, though they did not stand. The creature was female, nude, but without the bodily markings of a Hylian. Its skin was pale blue, and from its forearms protruded fins. At the two tips of its triangular head were vestigial black eyes that stared upwards without seeing. The face it wore was almost Hylian in form, but faint lines stretching from its lips hinted that it never fully opened its mouth as it spoke.

"I say we examine her information," the creature said with a voice distinctly female that warbled in tone with each word.

Auru sat, but remained agitated.

A brief consensus reached, Zelda continued. "My father keeps a stock of thirty-seven poisons and toxins, six of which are pumped into the moat surrounding Hylium Keep each week. I can provide vaccinations for thirty-five, and can enhance resistance to the remaining two—but that is all I will offer until I am made a part of your insurrection."

Though Auru said nothing more, his gaze was not kind. He at last back down, but never let his eyes wander from Zelda.

The matter was put to a vote, and Zelda was allowed to join.

Behind her, Impa remained a silent guardian, her arms held behind her waist. There was a greater level of raggedness to her, and her form was no longer as solid as it had once been. Though her eyes retained the calm of the _Shéikah_, they flitted about the room in a nervous fury.

It was in a different, easier voice that Zelda said, "I am not my father. I know it is easy to find him in me, but the similarities are aesthetic. I have never shared my father's passion for violence—"

Impa's eyes narrowed, but the movement was slight.

"—or death. It does not matter if you trust me. If our positions were reversed, I would not trust me." Zelda stood. "But I offer Hylium's vulnerabilities. I offer every single weakness my father failed to fortify. There is no longer a Link to ride against the darkness, so it falls to us to take his place."


End file.
